nny | Another bit from the merlin fic

Er, from the same general fic area, but not actually connected to the previous bit. Er. I'm just gonna blame

soupytwist for this, okay?

The next thing he knows, Merlin’s standing behind a huge table, brightly coloured and far too big to have been made out of anything respectable like trees, not with how seamless it is. He’s brightly coloured, too, and the pattern on his jerkin is chaotic and hideous and kind of makes him want to stab himself in the eye.

“Er.”

He looks around frantically but there’s no sign of Arthur, again, and yes he might be an arse but every new disappearance is starting to hurt a little more, to feel rather as though Merlin’s been punched in the stomach. Possibly it’s to balance the fact that the transitions are becoming easier, that he’s able to think and stand and remember quicker, each time.

There’s one constant, one thing that hasn’t changed yet, and that’s the watched feeling. The way the bright white lights that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere at once make him feel spread open, pinned out on a board for perusal. It’s magnified a million times by the forest of black pillars, each with a shining crystalline eye fixed on him and a tiny malevolent red light crowning it.

And, just to make things even worse, there’s a tiny voice squawking minutely in his ear.

“But – “ Merlin says, “but I didn’t make one earlier.”

“Yes you did, Merlin.” Arthur says it through gritted teeth, emerging from somewhere among the forest of black.

“I did?” Merlin asks, because that’s a more socially acceptable option than whimpering and clinging on to Arthur’s sleeve gratefully and possibly never letting go.

“And somehow managed to leave it over by me,” Arthur continues, circling the table to stand next to Merlin. His smile is strained around the edges but wide and genuine enough, if you’re not as familiar with his expressions as Merlin is. When he talks now he’s facing into the pillars, the occasional sidelong comment a reminder of hunting trips, of the way Arthur would never take his eyes off the animal because it’s a threat, Merlin, it’s always a threat until it’s dead.

Sometimes even then.

“Now you can see from this model that if you’ve got an adult to help you with the paper fasteners, you should have a swimming pool cover that swings to one side easily, letting Thunderbird One take off.” The tiny plastic tubelike thing, painted in alternating squares of red and white, is deftly pinched between Arthur’s fingers and lifted out of its hiding place, accompanied with a bizarre sputtering noise from Arthur. The sidelong glance that he sends Merlin’s way, the wry way his lips curl around the sputtering is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“This isn’t right,” Merlin doesn’t actually mean to say. The response from the little voice in his ear is loud enough that he bats at it defensively, manages to hook his fingers around a curled cord and tug, something small and hard and uncomfortable popping out of his ear and on to his shoulder.

“You’re right,” Arthur says, after a moment or two of silence and a glare fierce enough that Merlin ducks his head. “It’s looking good but we’re missing some of the scenery. And for that,” his attention focused on the watching lenses once more, “you’re going to need a small dish of green paint and some cotton wool balls. Make sure you’ve covered the table with newspaper first!”

“Don’t you ever feel like we should be somewhere else?” Merlin continues desperately, ignoring the increasingly frantic squeaking on his shoulder.

“Well right now I’d rather be jumping out of a plane,” Arthur returns smoothly, with just the slightest hint of a threat in his voice. “And keep watching,” he tells the forest of black poles, “because you can see me doing just that later in the programme.”

Merlin has no idea what a plane is, but he knows that doesn’t sound good.